Sweets to the Sweet
by Laura Schiller
Summary: The chocolate drop scene from Jo's point of view. J/F.


Sweets to the Sweet

By Laura Schiller

Copyright belongs to the estate of Louisa May Alcott.

"Good evening," said Mr. Bhaer.

Jo looked up from her book and winced – of all the times for him to arrive, with Father and Demi stretched out on the floor holding their legs up in V shapes. She did her best to sink into the wall as Mr. March, oblivious, picked himself up and greeted the Professor.

"Good evening, Mr. Bhaer. Excuse me for a moment. We are just finishing our lesson."

Mr. Bhaer picked up the excited Demi and talked to him as Jo continued to watch. She was perched up on the top rungs of a bookshelf ladder in the opposite corner of the room; she wondered if he'd even noticed she was there. If he hadn't, when would be the proper time to call attention to herself? It seemed a pity to interrupt the funny picture they made: the Professor in his brown tweed jacket, with his ruffled hair and spectacles, and the little golden boy rifling through his pockets.

_Friedrich,_ thought Jo, _would make a wonderful father for some lucky woman's child_. And she blushed so hard, she had to hide her face behind Mr. March's Cicero collection.

"Oh, she kissed me, and I liked it. Don't little boys like little girls?" asked Demi, who had been telling 'the bear-man' all about his visit with Mary Moffat.

Mr. Bhaer looked up – and yes, he _had_ noticed Jo, since the amused glance he sent over Demi's head was expressly for her benefit. She grinned back, shutting the book with one finger between the pages.

"You precocious chick," she teased Demi, "Who put that into your head?"

"'Tisn't in mine head, it's in mine mouf," said the literal-minded Demi, showing her a chocolate drop on his tongue. All three of the adults had to laugh, much to his bemusement.

"Thou shouldst save some for the little friend," said the Professor. "Sweets to the sweet, manling."

He walked over to Jo's bookshelf, reached into his pocket again and held up a generous handful of chocolate drops for her. It was an innocent gesture, but the look on his face made her dizzy;

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Chocolate, you know," he said, "Was sacred to the ancient Aztecs."

Jo knew. Thanks to Mr. March, who hadn't always remembered to place certain parts of his book collection from beynd the reach of inquisitive daughters, she also knew that some cultures associated chocolate with passion and love.

"Oh, I believe that," she said, speaking lightly. "It's certainly delicious. But I'm warning you, sir – don't give Demi any more today, or he will be bouncing off the walls."

She popped the chocolates into her mouth quickly, before they could melt and leave stains on her hands. Mr. Bhaer watched, still wearing that dark look in his eyes. Her use of "sir" seemed to have wiped the smile off his face.

Demi, hearing his name, showed yet another example of his uncanny powers of observation which made his young aunt undecided whether to kiss him or shake him. Looking from her to the professor, the child tilted his head and chirped: "Do great boys like great girls too, 'Fessor?"

Jo expected the Professor to say something casual: 'Yes, for example, your aunt and I are friends', or something of that sort. Instead he stepped back from the bookshelf, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and looked around like a young adolescent who is unsure what to do with his arms and legs.

"Ah … I believe they do … sometimes."

Jo would have sold her long brown braid all over again to know what he was thinking. Was it only the inevitable embarrassment of trying to describe adult relationships to a child too young to understand? (_And how did 'adult relationships' enter into it anyhow?_ she scolded herself._ Jo March, I'm ashamed of you! Such a fuss over nothing!_) Or was Demi's suggestion perhaps closer to the mark than the child himself suspected?

If her father had not been there, dusting off his black suit with a clothes-brush and looking amiably puzzled, it was quite possible Jo would have asked for an explanation – but as it was, she hastily changed the subject.

_Three hours later_

Jo bounced into the house, humming a tune, still running through her conversations with the Professor in her mind. She had accompanied him to his omnibus station, ignoring the November cold as usual; her skirts were three inches deep in mud, but she couldn't care less. She'd made him laugh several times, convinced him that Goethe's _Faust _really did have some good in him (_Well spoken, Miss March_) and he had held her arm all the while.

As soon as she'd stowed away her bonnet and cloak, however, and gone back to the study to finish Cicero, she came across a startling, but not entirely unexpected sight.

"Demi!"

The little boy, standing by the open china-closet and trailing his hands all over Aunt March's wedding gift plates, jumped and turned around.

"Aunt Dodo?"

"You know you're not supposed to be in there!" She pulled him away; at any other time, she would have given him a shake for ignoring Marmee's orders, but today she was too happy to punish anyone, deserved or not.

"Oh, come here, you," she mock-growled, picking him up and swinging him around and around until he squealed with laughter.

"How would you like some bread and jelly, you little rascal? Oh, and to answer your question, big girls and boys like each other _very_ much indeed!"


End file.
